The Will of the Few
by notapepper
Summary: Jemma Simmons will blame herself for any problem ever in the world, whether she's truly guilty or not. - Jeff Bell [Or, Jemma attempts to sort through her complicated feelings in the wake of Will's death. FitzSimmons endgame with Will/Jemma discussed throughout.]


TV Shows » Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. » **The Will of the Few**

Author: notapepper

Rated: T - English - Angst/Hurt/Comfort - Reviews: 4 - Published: 12-23-15 - Updated: 12-23-15

id:11684648

 **Author's Note:**

Set a few weeks after the mid-season finale, around the time that they deliver the news of Will's death to his family. No one's realized about Squid!Ward yet.

(Y'all, fair warning, this is not my usual cornucopia of dick puns. This one is all angst.)

* * *

Daisy

"So what was he like," Daisy prompted, shifting to face Jemma with one knee up on the bed and the other foot on the floor.

"Will was…" Jemma breathed in deeply, twisting her hands together. "He was brave. Funny. We didn't have the best start, but once we'd gotten past his paranoia and rough edges, he was charming." Her mouth twisted anxiously, wondering if she sounded defensive. She couldn't expect Daisy—or anyone, really—to understand how she could possibly love Will.

Daisy set her coffee mug on the nightstand, nodding. "Don't forget cute." She smiled impishly.

"Ah." Heat rose to her neck. Had __everyone__ seen that selfie? "Yes, well it is hard to forget a thing like that." Jemma took a sip of her tea. "It wasn't just looks, Daisy. He was truly remarkable. Just the strength it took to survive, alone, in that place… Did you know he'd been chosen for the NASA mission when he was eighteen? Not much more than a boy, but he cared about his team, and was determined to protect them."

"You have that in common." Daisy rested her fingers on Jemma's arm, clutching briefly in reassurance.

"Had," she corrected quietly.

Daisy hummed sympathetically before leaning in to squeeze her shoulders in a hug. "You can talk to me about this, okay? I mean, all my exes were more __good riddance__ than __what if__ , but I get it. He was important to you."

Jemma sucked in a breath. She oughtn't burden Daisy with this. Then again, she'd put far too much on Fitz already, and with Andrew gone— the sharp rodent teeth of guilt gnawed at her insides until she shoved that line of thought away.

"We would have spent the rest of our lives together, over there. If I was sure of anything, it was that." __We were going to die on that planet.__ "It's quite an odd feeling, knowing you'll be with one person forever."

"Right… and then you came back…" Daisy eased into the assumption.

"And it was the same feeling, in a different setting." She blinked tears away, and Daisy read her like the morning paper.

"But with Fitz."

"With Fitz." Jemma hung her head. "I'd never considered the idea that my future with Will," __that certain, unalterable future,__ "could overlap my future with him." Two happily-ever-afters, two til-death-do-us-parts. The only way she'd been able to reconcile it was knowing those lives would never coexist. When they suddenly did, it was… She sighed. Her time at __Hydra__ had been less disorienting.

"What about now?" Daisy's tone was so gentle, it almost hurt. "Do you still want a future with Fitz?"

"Of course I do," she all but snapped. "Why does everyone find that so hard to believe?" She sniffed wetly before guilt prickled at her eyes again, an avalanche of reasons crashing into the back of her skull.

Pity creased Daisy's brow as she gingerly took Jemma's mug from her hands and set it aside. "It's not." She quirked a half-smile and nudged Jemma's knee with her foot. "Hey, I totally knew you loved him like, two years ago."

Jemma scoffed silently, rubbing the back of her hand over her eyes.

"Just… you might want to let __him__ know."

Jemma put on a small grimace masquerading as a smile. Daisy meant well, Jemma knew, but she couldn't understand. She and Lincoln had a lovely thing, an easy thing made of kisses and whispers and longing looks, so of course she thought all Jemma needed was a good cry on Fitz's shoulders (and probably a shag) to fix matters between them. But __Daisy__ hadn't waited too long and singlehandedly mucked up the most important relationship in her life.

She stood, clearing their empty cups from the bedside table, and murmured, "We should get these back to the kitchen."

-o-

Fitz

"You're sure you don't want me there?" His offer, like those before, filled her with equal measures of tender gratitude and impotent rage. Did he __want__ to watch her explain to Will's mother what a hero her son had been? Hadn't she done enough to hurt him? She tamped down the building scream and pressed her lips together.

"I'm quite sure. It's my responsibility."

Fitz—dear, sweet, no-idea-when-to-stop Fitz—kept on. "It's just— it could be quite a hard conversation, and if you need someone—"

"May will be flying me. She'll take over if it gets to be too much." Jemma turned to him resolutely, placing a hand on his arm. "I'll be fine."

"But I should go, still. I'm the most familiar with the…" Fitz looked away, towards his shoelaces. "The circumstances of his death."

 _ _Oh, no.__ Jemma grit her teeth. He was __not__ going to shoulder this for her, especially when he'd got things completely backside-up. "You didn't watch Will die. You watched the __thing__ inside his body burn to the ground." She waited until Fitz's eyes turned to meet hers, and continued, not quite able to keep the brambles from her voice. "His last moments need to be told, and it falls to me, since __I'm__ the one he died saving."

"Hey." Fitz's hand covered hers where it still clenched at his forearm. "You told me yourself how bad the isolation was. He was already dying, Jemma; you gave him his life back."

She turned her head so Fitz wouldn't see her roll her eyes, not wanting to deal with his stubborn insistence that she'd somehow been good for Will, rather than the indirect agent of his death. "I'm not sure his mother will agree."

-o-

May

"Is this all right?" Jemma stepped tentatively into the cockpit.

May inclined her head briefly to the empty seat. With a sigh of thanks, Jemma sank into it and strapped in.

Not five minutes later, Jemma spoke. "I don't know why I'm not more relieved. This was the last thing we needed to do for him. I should feel… settled, shouldn't I?" She was quiet a moment. "After all, it's not as if I didn't have time to get used to the idea that he could be dead, even before Fitz went over there. It was always a strong possibility. Naturally, I'd been preparing myself." She tucked a piece of hair back into place. "I'm sure you must know I excel at preparation."

May lifted an eyebrow, face angling to almost look at Jemma. (That also might have been an optical illusion.)

"It was just… it was always simple with him. There wasn't any history to worry about, no major regrets. Our baggage was our own." She scratched a nail across the window at her side until May's glare stopped her short.

"There's something to be said for that, isn't there? Knowing you haven't ruined anything yet," she explained haltingly. "The planet was a dark place, to be sure, but," she shrugged, "there was something light about the way we were together."

"Sounds perfect," May muttered dryly, surprising her.

Jemma tutted. "Oh, hardly that. No one's perfect, of course—not even—" She cut herself off, clearing her throat. "Who knows if Will and I would have even been friends, in the real world? He wasn't __sciency__. His word." Her nose scrunch made the clarification redundant. "I think he was jealous of Fitz for that. Being able to keep up."

May deadpanned, "Just for that?"

"Well," Jemma flustered. "Yes, once we— not that I— I tried to tell him, by then I'd given up on any—" She closed her mouth and took a deep breath. "I think perhaps, in some respects anyway, Will knew me quite well after all." She looked out the window into the pink-and-gold clouds, and there was a long beat of silence before she spoke again. "I'd always thought Fitz would be the one to get jealous, if I'm being honest. But throughout this entire thing, he's been…" __Unbearably, agonizingly sweet.__ "Very accommodating."

May's lips pursed in what could have been a smirk. "You hate that."

"Yes!" Jemma's hands flew up in a huff before her mind caught up to her mouth, and she clapped them over her lips. A moment later she drew them away, transferring her fingers to her neck. "It's horrible, it's a horrible thing to say, that he's too nice. But he is! From the start I knew he must be angry—how could he not, I was __awful__ to him—and still he treated me with all the care and respect he had __before__ I'd asked him to help me __rescue my boyfriend__ ," her eyes slid upward in exasperation, "and he didn't just __help__ , he spearheaded it! He insisted on it!" Her eyes pleaded, though May's were still locked on the horizon. "Why would he do that? Didn't he want to fight for me? For us? Or at __least__ tell me off for how much I'd put him through!"

May didn't move her head, but she oozed mild disapproval. "No one on that base doubts how hard Fitz fought for you."

Guilt flooded Jemma once more. "I know. God, it's—"

"Stop." May reached over a flipped a lever before finally turning to face Jemma. "You know why you wanted him to yell at you? Why you don't understand him being kind to you now?"

"Because he's treating me with kid gloves! I want to know when he's upset. Trying to protect each other's feelings has only ever caused us problems."

May eyed her with appraisal. "You should be honest with each other. But that's still not the reason." May tugged on her aviator glasses to guard against the setting sun, and didn't speak again for the rest of the flight.

-o-

Hunter

The kitchen was deserted in the midnight hour. Or rather, it __should__ have been deserted, which was precisely why she'd chosen that time to go in there and have a quiet, contemplative cuppa.

Her irritation quirked into high gear at the sight of Hunter, barefoot in loose joggers and a vest top, putting together a plate of what looked to be biscuits, cold cuts, and bright yellow sport drink. __So much for quiet.__

"Evening," he grinned, adding a handful of cheese-stuffed olives dangerously close to the biscuits. "Don't mind me, just rehydrating, replenishing carbs, keeping a well-oiled machine." He glanced over his bare arms appreciatively, and Jemma groaned inwardly. "Kettle's hot, if you want it."

"Thanks." Though she craved the much-needed peace and stillness of an empty room, politeness dictated some attempt at conversation. "Were you training?" __At this hour?__

Hunter wagged his eyebrows lasciviously. "In a manner of speaking."

"Ugh." Her lip curled in disgust before she could smooth it out. She refused to let Hunter drive her away with his post-coital allusions, however, and sat resolutely at the table, fingers playing with the handle of her mug as she hid the growing restlessness from her face.

"What about you, then?" Hunter settled himself obliviously in his seat, propping his feet up on the back of a chair as he took a large swig of his lemon drink. "Heard you had a chat with Space Boyfriend's mum. Everything sorted?"

"Don't call him that." Her hackles sprang up, especially when Hunter's unapologetic grin reminded her that it was likely the only __polite__ nickname he had for Will.

"Sorry, sorry. Right." He raised his arms in acquiescence. "So while we're on it, Major Tom, I reckon I know a bit about falling in love with the wrong person—"

"Oh, __do__ stop."

"Look, I won't pretend everything turned out for the best, but it's still a relief, innit? Closure and all that. Now that's done, you can move on. Live your life."

Jemma's eyes narrowed. " _ _My life__ is none of your business." Her gaze landed on his motley plate again. __Are those my—__ "And talking of things you have __no right__ to, if you want proper chocolate biscuits, next time we're on a stopover in England I suggest you buy your own!" Incensed, she snatched one back and stared him down.

"Oi!" Hunter's feet hit the floor with a thump. "That's—" He swiped for it, so she shoved it into her mouth. She didn't even register the taste, just felt it crumble down her throat, dusty and unsatisfying.

Hunter's brows met in the middle. "You think I like being involved in any of this? You __made__ it my business, the pair of you, all those times I've had to listen to him carrying on about you."

"Of course, well, thank you for being a better friend to him in a year than __I__ could manage in a decade!" she coughed out angrily. "Well done, you."

"Maybe I am!" Hunter insisted. "You two… I see the love story, yeah? That's plain as tits on a cow. But this __friendship__ both of you keep talking about, I haven't seen that. Not yet, anyway."

Jemma's eyelids burned, and she tried to blink the sensation away. __Good.__ This was what she needed to hear, these hard truths that she knew deep down Fitz was too afraid to reveal. __He__ wouldn't ever tell her this, but he and Hunter were best friends now. Let Hunter say what Fitz never would.

"Oh?" she spat acidly, deliberately. "What would you know about it?"

Hunter's posture dripped with peevish offense. "Don't get pissy with me, love!" __Easy as pie.__ "Six months, he barely slept! He nearly died __twice__ , if you want to know, and those were the times I heard about! I had to bribe him to __eat__ —" he hoisted a biscuit, pointedly, "—yeah, I __did__ buy them, because that's the only way to make sure he wouldn't collapse."

Every word chipped, like a scalpel into bone. This was what she needed. __Nearly there.__ Jemma stared back, flinty and defiant.

Hunter put his elbows on the table and glowered at her. "Y'know, the whole time, I cheered him on, because the only thing that kept him going was the thought of getting you back. And when it finally happened, what did you do, eh? Turned him into your personal monolith handyman for the sake of that hog-face."

 _ _Done.__ "You're right. Thank you."

"For what?"

"For telling me that. For being honest about…" She swallowed the lump of molten sick that threatened to come up. __This is good. Now he won't have to pretend.__ "About how he really feels."

" _ _Him?__ " Hunter barked out a laugh. "Sod it. You two are made for each other." He pushed away from the table and clunked his plate into the sink. He spun to point the sponge at Jemma, flicking small drops over the linoleum. " _ _He's__ never been hacked off at you for any of it. Daft git thinks you shit gold eggs out your arse."

Jemma's brow knit together at the sudden goose-related imagery.

Hunter wagonwheeled on. "And for what it's worth to you, I do know what it's like, the thing with Will." He reconsidered briefly. "Fair enough, I never sucked off my brothers-in-arms, but—" He shrugged, overt nonchalance underlying honest regret. "I've left someone behind before. Been left behind once or twice, too." His shoulders slumped. "It's easier when you're a mercenary, yeah? People __expect__ you to be a grotty prick when you kill for cash. No one calls you a hero."

Jemma stilled, trapped air stinging her throat.

"Blimey, Simmons." He let out a long, slow breath, and set down the sponge. "You want me to hate you for what you done, love, and I wish I could give you that." He stepped forward and put both hands on her shoulders, locking eyes. "But sometimes life's just you, stood in the middle of a crapstorm, getting shat on by the universe." Unaccustomed to being serious, Hunter broke into a rueful half-grin. "And if you can't convince a twat like me that any of this shit was your fault, what chance have you got against a decent guy like Fitz?"

-o-

Fitz

The rat-a-tat of Fitz's knock jolted her out of her thoughtful haze, and Jemma scrambled out of bed, patting her hair and wishing she hadn't already washed off her makeup for the night. Tugging Fitz's hoodie tighter around herself, she opened the door and blinked wearily up at him.

"Jemma?" By his stricken expression and the way he immediately checked his watch, it was clear Fitz hadn't expected her current state. "Christ, I'm sorry— I'll just—"

"No, it's fine." It was only half nine; no reason for him to apologize. "I was just feeling a bit peaked, that's all. What brings you by?" As soon as the words left her mouth, she flinched. Not that he __needed__ a reason. Shuffling, she stood aside and motioned him in.

Fitz's feet carried him to the middle of her room, his eyes darting between her rumpled bed and the desk chair currently covered in files. After a loaded pause, he leaned his elbow casually against the top of her dresser drawer, crossing his legs at the ankle and immediately rethinking the pose. "So, ah, I… I meant to talk to you earlier…"

She sighed resolutely. __No time like the present, isn't that the expression?__

"I've been avoiding you." Once she said it, she knew it was true, though for the life of her, she didn't know why she'd let it go so long. Just having Fitz in front of her, alive and a little bit hopeful, it was as if a crucial valve had been unlocked in her machinery, letting her finally operate as intended.

He nodded. "It's okay. You don't have to explain."

She shook her head, sharp and automatic. "I should."

Fitz threw her a commiserating smile. "I'm not upset. You miss him, that's perfectly— I remember what it was like for me, when— and you weren't even—" He ducked his head, fumbling through through his pockets. "Anyway, I made you something that I think might help."

Hesitantly, he held out a keychain—a small steel space shuttle. "Press the button."

Flipping it over, she noticed a small circle under the nose. When she clicked it, a dozen holographic images popped up in front of her, her selfie with Will sitting front and center. Her heart sank.

"It's all the research I found on his life, before. Newspaper articles, eulogies, the lot. All nice things." He scratched his ear. "And that picture from your phone, 'course. This'll be easier than carrying around your tablet."

"Fitz." Her eyes squeezed closed, the familiar pressure of guilt mounting behind the lids.

"I thought perhaps you could take it with you to watch the sunrise?" God, he sounded so bloody __eager to please__.

"Fitz, don't."

"I— okay, that's probably— I just, I know how much he meant to you, and this way, he'll always—"

She couldn't bear it. "Is that what you __want__?" She opened her eyes, staring him down. "For him to __always__ be here? Always there, standing between us?"

"Wha— no! What?" Fitz took an unsteady step back. "You— I've spent a long time on that," he pointed to the keepsake. "You can't honestly be __mad__ at me!"

"And nobody asked you to!" She pulled herself up to her full height. "I'm not __angry__ with you, Fitz—"

"Could've fooled me—"

"I just don't understand how you can be so—" Her hands gestured wildly, prohibitively insufficient. "Will is for __me__ to grieve! You don't have to— urrgh!" She shook the keychain at him. "Just— stop being so __good__ all the time!"

"Because I have to be!" Fitz shouted, before clenching his fists and lowering his voice. "Jemma, if I'm trying to be perfect it's because everything about Will made it obvious that's the sort of man you want. And even if… you don't…" he cleared his throat, "Well, I can still be the friend you deserve."

She let her hands drop, defeated, against her legs. "Deserve," she choked out. "Fitz, you've got to take me off that pedestal."

She felt her body crumpling, knees buckling as Fitz lunged forward to catch her before she landed in a heap. "Don't you get it?" she gulped. "After all the times I've left you? Going to Hydra, letting Coulson convince me you were __fine__ when I should have known— I should've—"

Fitz wordlessly hugged her, leaning against the edge of her mattress as he smoothed the wrinkled hoodie over her back.

"I gave up, and I hurt you, and I __lied!__ "

"No, shhh, no…" he murmured into her hair.

"You say you killed Will?" she scoffed wetly. "You eliminated a monster. When __I__ tried to cross Ward off, I couldn't even manage __that__." His arms snugged tighter around her ribs, bracketing her wracking sobs. "I was so looking forward to our dinner, you know," she gasped, "then I made a hash of that as well…" It was all so __bloody__ __unfair__. "And every time you do things like this…" Jemma's hand spasmed around the tiny rocket, and the images winked out. Her voice creaked out in a whisper. "It just reminds me I'm not good enough."

She could feel him inhale under her ear, before the rumble of his voice feathered out into the stillness of her room. "Good enough for who, Jemma?"

Her breath hitched, and she shook her head brusquely against the cotton of his shirt.

"Because __I've__ already forgiven these horrible things you think you've done, and where SHIELD's concerned, you're the same incredible genius you've always been, only now you've bested Hydra and the cosmos alike."

The scruff of his stubble scraped lightly against her hairline. "And, okay— if you mean Will… if you're worried you weren't… I dunno, __deserving__ of his sacrifice… yeah, I can't speak for him."

The last remnants of her breakdown began to leave her body, muscles shaking and eyes red.

"But, as the president of the dying-for-Jemma club, I sincerely doubt he regretted it."

Her fingers pulled at the collar of his shirt. "That's not funny," she croaked.

"Wasn't meant to be." His bristly cheek contrasted with the softness of his voice.

She lay against his neck, letting the warmth of his skin and the subtle musk of his cologne infuse her senses. After a long moment, she asked tiredly, "When did you get so wise?"

He swallowed, the tuck of his Adam's apple brushing her temple. "Can't say, really. Might have something to do with this girl I know."

That night, after Fitz had fallen asleep holding her and she'd blearily ushered them both into her bed, Jemma clicked on the holo-photo and whispered, "Good night, Will."

-o-

Fitz (two weeks later)

Fitz's hand cradled hers as they walked in contented silence back to her bunk. When they reached her door, he excused himself with a quick duck of his head. "I'll just go get changed."

She blushed. "See you soon."

This was new, the nighttime cuddles, sharing an intimate space without the expectation of more. Every evening, Jemma struggled with the desire to show off a bit of extra shoulder, to use a nicer skin cream, to… well, to __excel at preparation__. Thus far, however, they'd proven themselves adept at bridging the gray between old and new, and she was in no particular rush to let her impatience spoil this pleasantness between them.

So she startled, surprised, a few hours later when Fitz's drowsy voice sounded at her side. "You don't have to wait for me to fall asleep."

"What?" she squeaked, tucking her hair more securely into its braid.

"I know you wait for me to sleep before you say goodnight to him. You don't have to, Jemma." He blinked up at her. "I'm glad you found someone to love on that planet."

Fondness surged through her, as they locked eyes and she marveled at how his still shone navy-black in the dim.

"Easy to say when you're the one in bed with me now," she teased, bubbles swelling in her chest at the flirtation.

"No," he muttered, and his despairing note brought her to ground. "I wouldn't have— if you— I'd have been happy for you. I'm sorry he's gone." The heel of his hand scrubbed against his forehead. "I know I'm not your first choice, Jemma."

 _ _Well, that's just nonsense.__ She knew exactly why he thought that—she __was__ the one who'd failed to confess her feelings when he might have believed her, after all—but this needed to stop. __Tonight.__

"Fitz…" She combed her hand through his curls. "Why do you think, after I said I loved Will, that I never said it about you?"

"Er… because, you can't lie?"

A grim quirk played at the edges of her mouth. "Correct."

An instant shroud came over his countenance, and she couldn't bear to leave it there, so she leaned forward and pressed a quicksilver kiss to his lips.

He tensed. "What—"

"Fitz, __how__ could I say I love you, especially once I'd identified it as the way I felt about Will?" How could anyone think the two situations were the __same__?

She looked down, shame overtaking her, and blurted out, "Compared to how I feel about you, the word 'love' seemed… so hopelessly __inadequate__ , it was almost offensive!" Jemma bit her lip, staring at the duvet. "I __couldn't__ say it, you're right. I couldn't cheapen it like that. Fitz, I…" She finally looked back at him, and found him wide-eyed and breathless. "I tried to show you on my phone, didn't I?" She fluttered away incipient tears as he nodded, mute. "I don't just __love__ you. It's… my __entire world__ is better when I'm with you. And that's been true for a very long time."

Fitz was struggling, mouth working, clutching at the bedcovers as he tried to come to terms with the notion. "So… you __do__ love me."

" _ _More than__." She reached out, stroking her thumb along his, and felt the tremble that ran through their joined hands. "But, yes, as simplistic as it is, I suppose that's one way of putting it."

"And…" He sat up and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You've felt this way for __how__ long now?"

She twisted the end of her braid. "Hard to say?" She squinted. "Long before you asked me to dinner, at any rate."

"Right." He inhaled, deep and measured. "So, er… I mean, I'm not saying— obviously it's not my— I, ah, can't help but wonder—"

"Fitz."

"Yeah, okay." A quivering sigh escaped him. "I just feel as if I've spent a load of time worrying about it, and now you're saying you were never __really__ going to end up with Will."

"Well, I don't __think__ so…" She shrugged, and a playful lilt crept carefully into her voice. "I certainly wouldn't have moved to Scotland for him." She nudged Fitz's elbow, trying to lighten the mood, and the smirk that inched over his jaw told her it worked.

"That's all right, then." With a nod, Fitz let go of the blanket and, after a heartbeat's hesitation, skimmed his hands cautiously onto her waist. "So… erm, I don't want to get ahead of myself..."

She held her breath as she rested her arms on either side of his neck, a tiny smile venturing into her cheeks. "Yeah?"

His head tipped forward, face tilting slightly as his forehead butted against hers. "Yeah." He ran his fingers over her back, trailing lightly up and down her spine. "Are you... is this okay?"

Jemma allowed the smile to break over her face, washing out all traces of sadness as her soft nod grazed their noses together. And when their lips met, at long last, she thought that perhaps it took crossing the universe and back to find what she really wanted.

-fin-

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

I couldn't resist putting in a nod to boy-wonder teenaged astronaut Will in here. Since we're likely never to have the mystery of Will's amazing anti-aging secret explained (Dermatologists HATE him!) I figured the least I could do was make him a child prodigy; it would explain more about why Jemma liked him, it'd work out well for his face and keep things a little more May-June than May-December.

Big thanks to my beta on this, atomicsupervillainess. She's a sweetheart and ridiculously nice even when she's having a crappy day.

Also! The holographic keychain was inspired by a fic called All in Good Time (a holiday story) by The Little Ripper.


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